Itachi lifted his eyes from the medical manuscript as Sasuke trotted towards him across the garden compound. The boy’s shirt was cross-hatched with grass stains, and even in the shade of the tree, the elder Uchiha could see welts forming on Sasuke’s pale legs.

“I’m hungry, Niisama. Give me a peach.”

Itachi reached in the picnic basket Mother had packed for them. The white peach was ripe to the touch. He thought of fluttering eyelashes, juice spurting on lips-chin-fingers, long and grateful sucking. Mmm, Niisama, so good...

“There’s none left — here, have this,” he said, throwing his brother an apple.